


I can't stop remembering

by skyekingsleigh



Category: High School Musical (Movies), High School Musical RPF
Genre: Angst, Break Up, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-20
Updated: 2018-07-20
Packaged: 2019-06-13 08:45:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15360669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skyekingsleigh/pseuds/skyekingsleigh
Summary: "Zac, I love you. I do. But I love you too much."





	I can't stop remembering

**Author's Note:**

> i am back with another fandom! zanessa/troyella was my first ever otp. anyways, story time:
> 
> my four year old cousin got obsessed with zac efron from the greatest showman and i, being an intellectual, made her watch all three high school musical movies and she ended up being obsessed with them as well and now she watches them everyday. meaning i watch them everyday as well lol. here's the product of that. 
> 
> also, there's not enough troyella and zanessa fics in here.

-

The steaming water from his shower should have burned him, but he kept scrubbing at his body harshly anyway until his skin is glaringly red, until he felt even just a little bit less disgusted with himself. The scratches down his back stung him but unlike before, it didn't come with pleasurable memories. It only gave him pain; _more_ pain and regret and self-hate.

He couldn't remember her name. 

At first he was just hanging out with old friends at a random club, gulping down his fifth drink and third shot. He was never a lightweight, anyway. Or that's what he thought. Ever since coming back, even two beers were enough to buzz him. When a waitress handed him a fourth shot, his gaze was becoming hazy. And that's when he saw her.

He couldn't remember her name, but he did remember her skin. It was a beautiful olive complexion, glistening with sweat and shining against her pale blue dress that matched his eyes. Her hair was dark brown and shimmers under the nightclub lights. And her eyes were almost black, drunk with the beat as she swayed her hips seductively. He caught her eyes and it was downhill from there.

He remembered ripping apart her dress and her giggle and pathetic attempt at protesting. She raked her hands all over his body, and when he pushed inside her warm cavern, her nails dug at the skin of his back, making him hiss in pain. 

It had been a beautiful distraction if only he didn't open his eyes just before they can both come undone. 

But he did. Cobalt eyes searched hers, and suddenly everything felt wrong; everything hurt. 

She was mewling at his halted actions but it didn't matter. What did matter was that although her skin was a beautiful olive complexion, it was too tanned and it wasn't perfect. Although her hair was shiny, it was pin straight and not the wild curls he longed to touch. And her eyes; they were too dark and didn't have specks of gold when the lights hit them just right. She was beautiful but she wasn't _her._

He could barely recall forcing the poor girl to unwrap her legs around his waist and kicking her out of the hotel room. All he could focus on was the shallow breaths that left his chest and how much he wanted to give in, to relapse, to let go because why does it matter? What's the point when the reason he stopped and the reason he got better wasn't there? Wasn't his? At least, not anymore. 

And so he went home to an empty house and he walked directly to the telephone, hoping that she left him a message like she usually did when she leaves without saying where she went. But all that's left on his voicemail was his brother, Dylan, telling him that he went to the beach with his friends for the weekend and not to worry, and that was enough to set the dam in his eyes off. 

He was sure that under the shower, he wouldn't notice that he was still crying over her when it's been two fucking years. She was happy. She found happiness in another man because he fucked up, and the thought sent him lurching on the toilet, heaving and emptying the contents of his stomach. 

He thought that if he scrubbed hard enough, he could wash away the fact that he did it again. He slept with another girl that reminded him of her. How messed up is that? How messed up is he? 

But then again, how could she?

How could she move on so easily, as if what they had didn't mean anything to her? As if they weren't each other's first loves? He told her he would try and get better and he was better now, wasn't he? He was taking care of himself and making movies left and right just like they dreamed when they were naive little kids in the industry of growing up too fast. 

But why wasn't she with him?

_"I don't recognize myself anymore! I am always angry and jealous and I feel like I'm going crazy!" She shouted through her sobs, running a hand through her wild hair and not bothering to wipe away her tears. "Zac, I love you. I do. But I love you too much."_

Two years and he still didn't get it. How did loving someone too much become a problem? He loved her too much as well but it had been a good thing, right? What was the point of being together if they didn't love each other? Yes, they were going through a rough patch but was that enough to let go? Did she love him as much as she let him believe or was it just an excuse to exit their relationship?

_"I deserve to be with someone who makes me a better person, and I thought it could be but right now that someone just isn't you anymore."_

Well, fuck. What does he say to that? Nothing. He just looked her in her perfect brown eyes with gold specks that he loved too much, let himself cry just to portray how much he hurt, how much he ached, and then he left. They didn't talk for three months. When he called her to say he wanted to get help and get better, and he wanted her by his side, she just told him how proud she was but she never showed up. She never came back.

With a loud screech, he turned off the shower and wrapped a clean, white towel around his waist. His big mirror was all misted up so he skipped shaving and went back inside his room, feet padding softly against the hardwood floors. When he finished getting dressed, he walked to his nightstand to get some medicine for his headache and that's when he saw it.

In an elegant, plain black picture frame, his nineteen year old self stared back at him, one eye dropped in a wink with his arms wrapped around her, and if he closed his eyes he could imagine the same feeling he felt back then when she pushed a camera up to their faces and stood on her tiptoes to press a gentle kiss on his cheek. Her eyes were closed and he could remember the soft hum that left her throat as she kissed him, and the click of the camera that they both ignored to continue the sensation of being so close to each other.

At the very bottom of the picture, in thick black marker, her handwriting haunted him. 

_Z + V forever_

With a deep, shaky breath, he turned the picture frame down.


End file.
